Blood Is Thicker
by RogueMoon
Summary: Post-Antarctica: Feeling abandoned by the X-Men, Remy blames the blood running through his veins for his problems. His father's blood. Sinister's blood. The devil's blood. Rated for general torment of Remy. Collab with Nicole Wagner. Posted w/permission
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Neither I nor Nicole own the X-Men, characters, etc. And we don't make money off this. Sadly

**Blood is Thicker**

A X-Men Fanfiction

Written by RogueMoon and Nicole Wagner

Original Idea and collaboration by Nicole Wagner

Posted with Permission of Nicole Wagner

Chapter One

**::: :::**

The water lapped softly against the bottom of the dock, a gentle, constant sound in his life. What life he had, anyway. Remy flicked the half finished cigarette out over the blue-green expanse and watched it pop like a firecracker. Usually that could bring a brief smile to his face, just because.

It didn't, hadn't for weeks now. Not since he was given the boat house by Scott and Jean so he could stay with the X-Men without causing problems for the team. Out of sight, out of mind and all that Jazz. All because he had a history with Sinister.

Scott had a history with the man too, but Scott hadn't worked for him willingly. Scott hadn't formed the Marauder's and led them into the sewers to slaughter the Morlocks like cattle. Scott didn't have a past that he was ashamed of.

Logan did. Logan had a past worse than any of theirs. They knew it because his nightmares would wake the house at least once a week. But Logan didn't remember any of that past. He was a changed man, literally. He didn't have to live with the knowledge of what he had done and it didn't effect the choices he made. There was no possibility of ulterior motives.

Something Remy didn't have. They'd never really trusted him. Too cocky, too much of joker, a loner and of course, a thief. Too proud of his profession. Of being able to con others. That wasn't something a trustworthy person would be proud of.

It must run in the blood. Sinister's blood. His blood. It all went back to his father. The devil himself made flesh.

Gambit picked at a scab on his leg, barely feeling the pinch as the skin and blood came off. Didn't feel anything as the wound began to bleed slowly. It was his blood, the devil's blood. It was all his fault that Remy was untrustworthy. A sinner.

He frowned, picked at the cut, widening it with his fingers until he couldn't stand causing himself any more pain. The blood flowed more, faster, escaping its mortal container. The devil's blood flowed out of him.

It made him feel better. Watching the devil's blood leave him was worth the pain he had inflicted. It dribbled down his leg and onto the dock, staining the wood before finding a path between the cracks to fall into the water below. Dissipate. The poison diluted.

He watched himself bleed until the blood clotted, stopped flowing naturally. Dark red and black in the light of the setting sun. His body trying to keep the devil's blood inside him.

Remy stood up and wandered back to the boathouse, his afternoon wasted in a futile attempt to rid himself of his own heritage. He had had nothing better to do. The Danger Room was off limits to him except on Monday nights when he had a few hours all to himself. No one else around for him to run into or hurt just by reminding them he existed.

He walked slowly into the kitchen, stomach rumbling as he fished out some peanut butter and jelly and put together a sandwich for himself. Buffy would be on soon, a repeat guaranteed. But he didn't mind. He liked the show. Idly he picked up one of the steak knives and began flipping it through his fingers as he ate. Practicing as he usually did. It was about the only practice he could get in during the six days he wasn't allowed in the Danger Room.

After finishing the sandwich he strolled to the couch and plotted down with all the grace of a wet coat and picked up the remote with his free hand. The other still flipped the knife with ease. The opening rock music heralded the pretty form of Buffy flipping over people's heads and wielding axes and wooden spikes.

He frowned as he recognized the episode. He'd seen it several times. The one with the Sadie Hawkins Dance and Buffy and Angel playing the parts of the teacher and student. The student killing his teacher, Buffy shooting Angel. He wasn't sure he wanted to watch it anymore, but he didn't turn it off. He had nothing else to do.

The knife slipped and he let out a curse as it clattered to the floor, the sharp pain of it slicing one finger surprising him. He pressed the cut to his mouth and sucked on the blood, trying to stop the bleeding. It was coppery and acidic. It was the devil's blood.

He pulled his hand away and watched himself bleed in silent awe. Red on black eyes, devil eyes, followed the dripping red as it fell in sluggish drops to the carpet next to the knife.

The knife.

The devil's blood leaving him.

He picked up the blade with his uninjured hand and stared at it as Buffy went to commercial. The knife cut him so much easier than he had cut himself. How could he have not seen it before, realized the solution?

He could bleed it out. Rid himself of the devil's blood. Rid himself of the sin he was born into. Remy stood and left the living room, TV still blaring behind him as he went to the bathroom. He rolled up his pant leg and sat down on the edge of the tub.

Placing the knife against the scab that was already there, he sliced downward, lengthening it. He didn't want to die. Just be rid of the devil's blood. A little bleeding wouldn't kill him.

It bit into him and he couldn't stop the hiss of pain. But the red sea of sin began to surge from him, empty into the white porcelain vessel. He set the knife down on the toilet and leaned back against the wall. No sense causing more of a mess than necessary. He could just run the water once the blood clotted and be done with it.

He wondered how long that would take. Would he be able to see the end credits of the show before or after the red river stopped running freely? He hadn't cut himself too deeply, so he was going to bet on before he returned to watch the 'Grr, Argh'. Remy chuckled, it felt good to bet with himself over how long it would take him to lose his sins.

They wouldn't all be gone though. A body needed blood to live, and he didn't want to die. He'd still have the devil's blood in him. Just not as much as before. That was fine. He could deal with it and always drain some more later, when the sin built up to much.

**::: :::**

"You need to get in here more, Gumbo," Logan grinned widely as he hit Remy in the side with a well placed kick. "You're getting soft."

Gambit rolled with the hit, letting himself fall to the floor bonelessly and tumble back up, Bo staff clipping his opponent in the shoulder, "Not allowed in here 'cept on Mondays, mon ami. Ya know dat."

"Bullshit. You have your private session time on Mondays. You can still come up for group practice and I'm always in the mood for a sparring partner," Wolverine growled back, actually angry at the Cajun for thinking like that. His fist connected with Remy's chest and sent the man flying against the wall.

Gambit groaned and pushed himself back up slowly.

Logan crossed his arms and shook his head, "What's the matter with you, Gumbo? You should have lasted an hour and half against me. We've only been at this forty-five minutes and you're already in no shape to continue. It's not that cut on your leg is it?"

A look of surprise ghosted over Remy's face before he could school his expression. Then he shrugged the question away, "Nah. I jus' haven't had much practice against anyone lately. My leg be fine."

"It's bleeding. I can smell it. The cut opened up about ten minutes ago. You should-"

Remy nodded, rolling his eyes and collapsing his Bo staff, "Yeah yeah yeah. Get a new bandage on it. I know how ta care for myself, Logan."

The Canadian grunted, heading for the door, "My private sessions are on Thursday, in the morning. You can join me if you want. You should. You need it."

"Thanks," Gambit replied, following the man. And he meant it. It was nice to have that invitation. "But de rest of the team won't be so understanding, I'm thinking. Don't worry about it, Logan."

"I'm not worried about you, Cajun," Logan lied, he never did like showing affection for others. It made him feel weak. "I'm not trusting you to watch my back in a fight if you keep up the shit I saw today. Thursday morning. Be there. Anyone says anything, they have to deal with me."

The short man didn't see the look of pain that Gambit gave him, how he took the words to heart. How he smirked and nodded and was berating himself internally for thinking Logan meant anything else by his concern.

Remy joined Wolverine in the showers, washed the sweat of his workout off. Carefully washed the bleeding wound in his leg. It was longer than it had been three days before. Seven inches now, trying to scab over and heal. It had three friends, shorter, shallower cuts near the ankle. Even to the trained eye they looked like nothing more than something a person might get from walking barefoot near an old pier.

He saw Logan watching him clean his leg and could feel the man's eyes on him as he left the shower stall and went to the first aid kit. Feel him watch as a clean square of cheesecloth was set over it and then wrapped with a bright pink bandage strip to keep it in place. The self adhesive kind that stuck to itself and was easy to spot due to the color.

Wolverine seemed satisfied that he was taking care of the wound and got dressed, leaving him alone in the locker room. He went to his locker and pulled out a switchblade, then headed back into the shower. Turned on the water to full blast, closed his eyes and flipped the knife out. He pulled it across his side and felt a wave of euphoria at the release.

Remy listened for a bit, making sure no one had come into the room before pulling the knife along the skin about an inch above the first cut, perfectly parallel. He felt his sins falling away with the red, washed down the drain. A third slash was made, an inch above the second. Anyone who might see it would assume Wolverine had caught him in the side. Even Logan might think he had by the time he'd see the scabs. Gambit snapped the switchblade shut and leaned against the tiled wall, feeling a lot better than he did before.

**::: :::**

The elevator chimed closed before beginning it's decent to Sub-Level Three. Entrance to the Danger Room. It was Thursday and Logan had called him up the night before to remind him to be there. If it wasn't for the fact that Logan was more concerned about having someone capable at his back in a fight, Remy could have felt happy at the attention.

He sighed and leaned back against the wall of the white steel car, hands in his pockets, toying with the decks of cards he had hidden away. Fingers sliding over the thin plastic, comforting him with the familiar action.

The elevator slowed and he stood as it chimed again, doors sliding open. She stood there, ready to step forward, a look of shock on her beautiful face. Soon wiped away with burning anger in the emerald eyes he nearly worshiped, the eyes that kept him awake at night and made his body ache.

Her hands curled into fists as he stepped out of the elevator, tried to move past her, his own devil eyes looking away. Trying to look at anything but the beauty before him.

He was slammed against the wall, her gloved hand curling into his coat as her forearm pressed against his throat, crushing the air from him, "What are ya'll doing here, Gambit? If you lost track of time, let me assure you it's not Monday and it sure as hell ain't the afternoon."

Remy coughed, trying to swallow air past the pressure her arm created. He glared back at her, hating her and loving her and relishing the contact no matter how violent, "Ain't no rule says I can' come up here any other day den Monday, chere."

She leaned in further and he felt like he was going to pass out from the lack of air, his hands clutching her arm involuntarily, pulling feebly at it. "Only X-Men have clearance ta come down here outside of scheduled training time. And last I checked, Sugah," Oh how that word poured out, liquid hate. "You weren't an X-Man. Never were."

He could have cried at that. A lesser man would have. He just tried to return her look of absolute hatred while staying conscious, not an easy feat when the person pressing against his windpipe could rip a school bus in half without breaking a sweat. Or a nail.

He grinned at his own joke, couldn't stop himself and her eyes flared at his apparent audacity. He was shoved back roughly and then allowed to drop to the floor to cough up a lung in an attempt to breath, "Could have killed me dere, chere."

"I ain't your chere. Not anymore," she bit back. "And I ain't a killer."

The unspoken accusation hung in the air between them as the alarm rang through the halls, red lights spinning with the wails. The elevator opened and Remy squeezed in with Rogue, riding it up the two floors to Sub-Level One in silence. When it opened again, they joined the rest of the X-Men on the way to the War Room. Rogue putting as much distance between them as possible.

For his part, Gambit stood next to the door, at the very back of the room, arms crossed and making his presence felt as little as possible. The others sat down at the table and Scott addressed them, going over the situation. Sentinels had appeared two miles north and tore up a small town. They had already left, but Cerebro was tracking their signal. They'd be split into two teams, gold and blue. One would take the Blackbird and follow the robots. The other would head up to the town and see about the destruction, if anyone had been taken, etc.

Team rosters were called out. Remy's name wasn't on them. The others filed out, Rogue giving him a smug look, Warren and Betsy behind her with similar expressions of malice. Logan shrugged as he passed, an 'I told you so' look on his face.

Scott was the last one out, he clapped his hand on Remy's shoulder and looked him in the eyes, "Sorry Gambit. But I've been watching your training output and lately you just haven't been cutting it. Get back to what we're used to and you can join us again."

"Not even de mission up north? De bag and tag?" he tried to keep the pain from his voice. He was pretty sure he succeeded.

"It could be a ruse, you know that. Only those we can trust to do their jobs get into the field." Scott hadn't meant it to be mean, or accusing. But as he left Remy alone in the War Room, that's how it felt to the man. A full out declaration of mistrust from the Fearless Leader himself.

It was his father's fault. The blood of a sinner, the blood of a man condemned to evil, the blood of the devil. Remy hugged his trench coat around him and walked slowly from the room, back to the elevator. Took it down two floors.

Back to the Danger Room. He opened the door to the empty expanse and walked to the center of the room. He sat down, Indian style. His hands fumbled for the switchblade in his pocket and he flipped it open. Flipped it shut. Flipped it open.

His eyes, burning red, reflected back at him in the cold steel. His father's eyes, devil's eyes, the reason no one accepted him when he was a child, were scared of him. A product of the blood within him. He needed that blood out of him, needed to be purified.

Flipped the blade shut, flipped it open. Set it against his wrist and pulled. The blood cried for him.

**::: :::**

End Chapter


	2. Chapter 2

**Blood is Thicker**

A X-Men Fanfiction

Written by RogueMoon and Nicole Wagner

Original Idea and collaboration by Nicole Wagner

Posted with Permission of Nicole Wagner

Chapter Two

**::: :::**

"Cerebro, the location of Gambit, please," Storm's voice echoed gently in the hanger as she and the rest of Gold Team returned from their recognizance of the small town. They had found nothing to tell them what the Sentinels had been looking for. The inhabitants, a population of less than two hundred, said that nothing and no one was taken. The big robots just showed up, trashed the place and left.

"Gambit is currently in the Danger Room, Storm."

"Thank you, Cerebro."

"You're welcome, Storm."

Ororo smiled at the pleasant female voice. Remy was right, if Charles hadn't meant for them to be polite to the machine, he wouldn't have programed it to be so polite back. She began removing her cape and ran her fingers through her hair, fluffing the white locks, relaxing.

The door to the Danger Room was shut, but she was surprised to see no program being run when she checked the monitor. Frowning at that, she thumbed open the door and looked for her friend. Her eyes fell upon his fallen form immediately, widening at the blood pooled around him.

She slammed her hand on the emergency alert, "Medical assistance! Danger Room! Now!"

Her cape dropped to the floor, forgotten, as she rushed to Remy's side, only a little relieved that he was facing the ceiling and hadn't drowned in his own blood as her fingers found his pulse. Weak, but there. She took in the sight of a knife next to his right hand, as if it had fallen free.

Hank and a stretcher and first aid kit rolled into the room and he let out a soft gasp. Storm pulled Gambit's coat off and began searching for the wound that could have caused this while Beast rushed to the other side of the man. The rest of the X-Men reaching the door as he did so.

They were quiet, in shock, at the sight of Gambit laying there, nearly dead.

Ororo's heart nearly gave out when she looked at his left wrist. At all the blood there and the sluggish flow as it emptied out of the straight, clean cut. The kind of cut the knife laying next to him would have made. She grabbed a bandage from the first aid kit and had to wipe tears from her eye just to see straight enough to wrap the wound.

Hank pulled her away long enough to lift the limp body to the stretcher and hook him up to oxygen. Storm didn't even notice the blood covering her as she followed the doctor and her friend to the Medical Bay.

Behind her, in the Danger Room, Rogue walked woodenly to the pool of blood. Her green eyes wide as she fell to her knees next to his ruined coat, fixed on the steel of the blade that winked back up at her as if in conspiracy. Like saying 'good job'. She could only feel horror and terror at herself as a sob choked its way out of her throat.

**::: :::**

Scott stopped the video, hand shaking as he turned it off. He couldn't watch anymore, couldn't let it repeat that scene again. Didn't want to face what he had seen. It was all so surreal. Gambit sitting there, in the middle of the room, flipping the blade open and shut. His face completely blank as he stared at the blade. The unbridled fury that flared across his features, the blissful joy that followed the cut of the steel into his skin.

It was disturbing.

Kurt had his rosary out was was quietly murmuring prayers for Remy in German. His eyes were shut and his fingers flicked over the beads, one by one with each prayer to God for his teammate's soul. Suicide was the ultimate sin to a Catholic. The one that guaranteed a person went to hell.

Both Kurt and Remy were Catholic, though the Cajun only seemed to ever practice his faith on Christmas. And the priest didn't think he'd been to a confessional since joining the team. Gambit knew what he had attempted meant and that's what hurt Kurt the most about it. That he had decided to try and kill himself instead of talking about it. Going to someone, anyone.

Logan stood and headed for the door.

"Wolverine-" Scott began automatically.

"Goin' out. I'll be back later."

"Going where, Logan? We need you here. We need to discuss what to do about this."

Logan growled and flexed a fist, claws snapping out, "There's nothing to discuss, Slim. Kid tried to kill himself. Cut his own wrist. I should have seen it, we all should have seen the signs. We didn't. We failed. He's in critical condition. End of discussion."

Scott shook his head, "Logan..."

"No Scott. End. Of. Discussion." Wolverine left, claws flexing in and out as he stalked down the hall and then out of the mansion.

"We should send him to a psychiatric hospital," Warren said calmly.

Betsy nodded, "I agree. He's obviously mentally unstable and should not stay here."

"Are ya'll insane?" Rogue burst out, face red from crying for hours over this. "He needs ta stay here. With us. With his family."

"Family? We aren't his family, Rogue," Warren shot back, voice like ice and wings flaring in anger. "He shouldn't have been allowed back in the first place. He's a charity case, at best."

"You take that back!"

"Or you'll what? Dump me in Antarctica?"

Her face flushed with anger and Scott was standing between them, "That's enough. From both of you. If you aren't going to be civil and helpful, you can leave now."

Rogue's fists uncurled as she forced herself to relax and sit back down. Her voice cold as she replied, "He should stay here. We have the facilities ta take care of him."

Warren sat back down, glaring at the woman, then at Scott, "He should leave. We don't need to take care of him when there are plenty of better places trained to handle this kind of thing. None of us need the stress this cry for attention is causing."

"Cry for attention?!"

"What else would you call it? He's been trying to get back on the team, act like nothing happened, like he can be trusted. We've been too smart for that, so now he's pulling stunts to get our attention. To make him feel like the center of the universe. You saw the same tape as the rest of us. You saw his face. He looked happy when he cut himself. Because he knew it would get him pity."

**::: :::**

Wolverine ran through the woods, the ice and snow burning his skin as it whipped into him, carried by the ravaging wind. Ororo wasn't taking this very well. He could understand that, though he doubted the weather channel would be all that happy about a blizzard hitting upstate New York in the middle of August.

Any scent he might have tried to follow was lost in the swirling chill. Visual tracking was impossible, the snow a curtain keeping him from seeing no more than a few feet in front of him. He didn't actually need a scent or his eyes to find the weather witch. He knew she'd be in the middle of the mess, the eye of the raging storm.

Top of the boat house, of course. Remy's current home. She was on the roof, arms hugged around her knees. He had to plunge his claws into the frame of the house to keep from being blown away as he approached her, sat down next to her, holding on for dear life.

"'Ro!" He had to shout to hear himself, the wind was deafening.

She looked over at him with red eyes and a face better found at a funeral. Logan pushed himself closer and he felt the wind die down some. She was letting him near her. He sheathed his claws and wrapped his arms around her, "It'll be okay, darlin'"

She sobbed into his shoulder, the pain and confusion and self-doubt pouring out in a senseless stream of words and tears born away by the wind before he could actually understand anything. He didn't need to hear her words to know what she was saying. The weather said it all. Her hands clutching him said it all.

He held her close and rocked her in comfort, both hers and his own. They had both failed to see the signs, had failed Remy. He had seen the cut on Gumbo's leg. The top of it had looked irregular and that's why he hadn't said anything. But the bottom half was straight, nothing natural about it. He thought the kid had just got caught by something in one of his private sessions. Cajun had been sloppy lately, nothing to worry about besides that.

Logan should have known better. Should have seen it. He gripped Ororo tighter and let his own tears get carried away by the burning wind.

**::: :::**

Jean brushed non-existent flyaway hair from Remy's forehead, cooing softly to the man, hoping he could hear her. Know he was cared about. Even with so much blood lost, even so weak, his mind was covered with that damnable static that would bring only pain to the both of them if she tried to force her way in, in an attempt to help him. To see what caused this choice, to help him know he had other options.

Doctor McCoy fretted over the monitors and all the wires he had hooked Remy up to. Jean smiled at him, his thoughts an open book to her. He didn't want to leave Gambit's side. Didn't want leave his patient when he so obviously suffered.

"He'll need a blood transfusion," Hank murmured to himself. It was the third time he had said that. He kept repeating all the things he had to do to help the man, too flustered and worried about his charge to do much more.

Jean reached out and put her hand on the blue, furry arm, smiling softly as the man met her eyes, "It'll be okay, Hank. His vitals are strong and his breathing fine. He cut across the wrist, not down it. He'll survive just fine. We got to him in time."

Beast sighed and took his glasses off, cleaning them in a pointless, nervous gesture, "We shouldn't have had to get to him in time, Jean. That is what concerns me so. How could we have not seen this? How could we have ignored him so completely?"

The redhead closed her eyes and went back to stroking Remy's forehead in a slow, gentle brush of fingers over skin, "We let the pain of the others cloud our thoughts. Warren felt so righteously betrayed by his part in the massacre. Rogue for him not telling her the truth when she asked him to... Both her and Betsy having glimpsed his mind and felt his own guilt in the matter. We just accepted their words, their pain, as the the truth. Three against one. It was easy to take it at face value and not look at his side. What it was doing, had already done, to him. It was human nature, Hank. And it was easy."

"I was there Jean. During the trial. And when Rogue left him, I said nothing," he bowed his head and put his glasses back on, hands idly thumbing through the medical chart. "I am as much at fault as they for not listening to his words. For letting that farce of a trail happen as it did."

She couldn't argue with that. It was the simple truth of the matter. Instead she nodded, still smiling down at the too pale face, "But we have a chance to help him now, Hank. What blood type is he?"

"O Negative."

"Is there anyone in the mansion...?" She didn't need to finish the question. He was already shaking his head.

"No. It is one of the rarest blood types, Jean. It can be transferred to anyone safely, but the reverse is not true."

"What about his father? Jean-luc, anyone in the guild?"

"I will contact them immediately, see if they are willing and able. Failing that, we will have to approach a blood bank and that, legally, will be quite difficult."

Jean was quiet for a while, thinking, "The Avengers? Excalibur? SHIELD even?"

"SHIELD is probably not the best organization to approach. They are not particularly happy with our vigilante efforts and the Professor's continued incarceration is enough evidence in my mind to keep them as a last resort. As for the Avengers, as part of their team for several years, I can assure you that none of them are type O Negative. Less than 6% of the United States population have a matching blood type. Less than 9% of the world's population. We will be lucky if we can find someone in Excalibur or the Thieve's Guild who is compatible."

Jean bit her lip before speaking so quietly that the Doctor thought he might have misheard her, "Pardon? I don't believe I heard you correctly."

She looked up at him, tears at the edges of her eyes, "I asked about Sinister."

Beast shut his eyes and nodded, "He would most likely have the blood on hand to use. But I am loathe to attempt contact with him."

"Last resort, Hank."

"Agreed." He smiled at her and wrapped his arms around her in a quick hug before heading to his office, "I'll start the calls now."

**::: :::**

End Chapter


	3. Chapter 3

**Blood is Thicker**

A X-Men Fanfiction

Written by RogueMoon and Nicole Wagner

Original Idea and collaboration by Nicole Wagner

Posted with Permission of Nicole Wagner

Chapter Three

**::: :::**

Scott wasn't talking to Jean and it was tearing her up inside. He said he understood the decision, that it had to be made. The needs of the team, of Gambit, forced their hand. But he didn't like it and he had pulled into himself, shut her out.

Warren was furious, stalking the halls outside the med bay, waiting for Gambit to wake up. Waiting for a chance to get inside the room and finish the job the Cajun has started. Logan and six metal claws were the only thing keeping him out.

Rogue had flown off when Scott announced what they intended to do, tears streaming from her eyes. Ororo had taken up vigilance at Remy's bedside, occasionally joined by Kurt, who offered prayers to the unconscious man.

The team were all upset about it. But Jean-luc was only Remy's adopted father and had an A Positive blood type. Most of his family had A Positive or A Negative and simply weren't compatible. The rest of Thieve's Guild weren't willing to share their blood type, weren't willing to help the exiled prince.

Excalibur used to have a member with O Positive, but they had disappeared the year before, never to be heard from again. SHIELD was uncooperative, Fury not willing to help unless the X-Men agreed to work directly under them and going to a blood bank would have taken months of red tape to get around.

Sinister was the only option left to them after three frantic days of calling everyone who might have had some pull in getting them access to the necessary blood.

Jean was standing watch with Storm when Remy stirred. They were both holding his hands immediately, smiling down at him as he tried to pull away, sit himself up. He pushed feebly at the fingers encasing his and smirked, "If I get ta wake up ta de Angels every time I get hurt, I might have ta arrange for some tough lovin' more often."

Ororo sobbed, half in horror and half in relief, "Do not even joke about that, dear heart. You've been unconscious for days now. Do you know how worried we've all been?"

Jean pulled his head against her chest in a fierce hug that Storm joined in on, both of them ignoring Remy's pleas for air for several seconds. When they released him, his grin split his face, "Not dat I don't like snuggling such a fine chest as yours, Madame Rouge, but dis poor boy need some air."

He started pulling at the wires attached to him, having his hands promptly taken away and held down by two frowning woman, "Come on, now. Feeling fine, me."

"Feeling fine? By the Goddess, Remy, you lost almost half your blood," Storm's words were laced with shock and disbelief. "Why did you do it? What did we do to push you so?"

His face hardened and he looked away from them both, eyes cast to the floor and pulling his hands against his chest, "You didn't do anyt'ing. It was just an accident."

"Don't lie to us, Remy," Jean interrupted, voice shaking with anger and hurt, "We saw the security tape. Reviewed it for hours. You did it on purpose. You smiled." She sounded so accusing.

He closed his eyes and ignored them. A sob tore out of Ororo's throat and his eyes opened to look at her, regretful for hurting her so. But she had already turned away, opened the door and ran out of the room. Thunder cracked with enough force to shake the mansion, even two floors below ground. He didn't have the strength to call after her.

Jean's hand brushing hair from his face brought his mind back to the room, she just looked sad. Pity for him in her eyes. That made him angry, he didn't want her pity. He just wanted to be trusted again, a part of the family.

She attempted to smile, but it faded quickly, "You need a blood transfusion. Hank's been working overtime to find a compatible doner. You're both blessed and cursed with one of the rarest blood types on the planet, you know."

"Cursed is right," he muttered, looking away as his fingers began picking at the wires.

"Remy... you should know..." She lowered her head and bit her lip, pulling her hands to her chest.

He didn't like that look. That look always meant something bad. His mind went to the worst thing he could think of, "Rogue's okay, isn't she? Not'ing happened ta her while I was out?"

Jean gave a genuine smile and laughed even as tears leaked from her eyes, "No, Remy. Nothing happened to Rogue. She's upset about what happened with you, and is taking it very hard. Believes it's her fault. But nothing's actually happened to her."

He smiled softly at that, "Good ta hear. So if it's not dat and de world obviously ain't ended, what's got ya so upset?" It was getting harder to keep talking, he was feeling tired again.

Jean opened her mouth and stopped when his eyes drifted shut, "I'll... tell you later. Get some sleep, it can wait."

**::: :::**

Most of the team, Warren, Elizabeth and Ororo excluded, were gathered in the largest operating room. Waiting for Sinister to arrive. Hank had been able to contact him with an ease that made any sane person uncomfortable. What that meant was not something any of them wanted to dwell upon.

The room, normally very open and comfortable, felt cramped with so many people standing around. The two long beds laying next to each other at the center didn't help the constraints. But they had to be there, to make sure Sinister didn't try anything while he was there.

They were all suspicious of him. With reason born out of a very muddied history. Hank had explained the situation and he had immediately informed the doctor that his blood type was O Negative and he would be more than happy to offer it for a transfusion, had set up the time and gotten the coordinates for his tesseract system.

That made Hank more nervous. Not only was Essex the same blood type as Remy, he had practically thrown himself at the chance to help. The rest of the team hadn't liked it either, but Gambit needed the transfusion.

Hank was dressed in a lab coat, standing by Remy's bed. The man was still unconscious, not having woken up again in the past six hours since upsetting Storm and talking with Jean. The arrangements for the doctor's arrival had been made before the Cajun came to his senses. McCoy wished they'd been able to tell him what they intended during the brief interlude of lucidity, but luck wasn't always with them.

Ororo stood outside the room, her claustrophobia keeping her from her friend's side, unable to deal with the press of the team around her and the stress of worry for Remy. Warren wasn't allowed in the room because of his disposition towards Gambit and the fact that his power of flight was useless below ground. Elizabeth had opted to join her boyfriend, not actually caring if Remy lived or died and just wanting the drama over and done with so the X-Men could get back to dealing with important matters.

A tesseract opened in the exact spot Beast had given coordinates for and Sinister stepped through, grinning smugly at the sight before him, at the clenched jaws and tightening fists, the anger in the X-Men's collective gaze. Nodding pleasantly to Hank, the portal closed behind him and he strolled over to the prone form of Gambit, "All the necessary preparations have been made then, Doctor McCoy?"

Beast nodded, "They have indeed. All that is left is to draw your blood and begin the procedure."

Sinister nodded, his body shifting, normal black and red suit melting into his skin and leaving him with a sleeveless black shirt. Pale arms bare as he sat comfortably on the bed next to Gambit, ignoring the rest of the X-Men. They meant nothing to him at the moment.

McCoy washed his hands and then pulled on sterile gloves. He picked up the antiseptic on the tray between the beds and began swabbing Remy's arm. The Cajun moaned slightly, speaking quietly as his eyes fluttered open, "Dat's cold."

Hank chuckled, "Yes, my Acadian friend, it certainly is."

"What ya doin' ta me, M'seiur Bete?"

"Preparing your arm for a blood transfusion. It will take a couple hours, with as much blood as you've lost. I do hope you will forgive me for keeping you within these walls for a while longer."

Gambit shrugged, watching the needle get pushed into his arm. He could see part of the team just past Beast, but the big blue body blocked most of his view, "Ya doin' a demonstration or somet'ing? Don' much like de audience."

Hank frowned and didn't answer, continuing his work in silence. Remy didn't like that, "Somet'ing de matter, Blue?"

"We... we found a willing doner, Remy," Beast replied, removing his gloves and throwing them away, putting a new pair on. Then he stepped back, no longer blocking the other table. The other person sitting there. Sinister.

Smiling at him with one eyebrow raised as his son looked at him with growing shock and horror, "You shouldn't be so upset, my boy. I was quite generous and didn't even charge them. No price."

"Dere's always a price," Remy growled back, looking desperately around the room, trying to find someone to tell him this was all a bad joke. That it was Mystique playing a game with him. The team couldn't meet his eyes.

He felt like he couldn't breath, hands clutching the bed sheets as his head shook, "Non... No! I don' want dis!"

Hank pressed a firm hand against his chest, "You need a blood transfusion and Doctor Essex has the same blood type-"

"NO!" He screamed and yanked the needle from his arm, pushing himself violently from the bed, blood spraying. "No more devil's blood! I want it out! No more sin in me!" He scrambled across the room before they could catch him, his body shaking as his heart clenched in his chest. He was dizzy. His hands scraped at the metal doors, trying to open them, trying to find something to let the blood out faster.

"The sins of the fathers are passed down to their sons," Sinister murmured with a sigh, almost too quiet to hear in all the commotion as he stood up and calmly walked across the room to Gambit, pushing Hank aside and lifting the man by the arm, hand purposely closing over the wound the blood was flowing from. Putting pressure on it even as he pulled Remy to his feet and practically dragged him back to the bed.

The Cajun went nearly limp, body spasming slightly as his mouth began to move, gibberish pouring out in a panicked protest. His eyes rolled back in his head, legs becoming dead weight even as he tried to push feebly at the hand holding his arm.

A look of genuine concern overcame Sinister's face as he lifted him more gently, "Doctor McCoy? I believe he's undergoing a stroke."

"I believe you are correct, Doctor Essex," Hank replied, helping to lift the man onto the bed, "He needs to be calmed down, he's putting too much stress on his body."

Gambit's body stilled suddenly as the diamond on Sinister's forehead flared. The doctor glanced over the room and settled his eyes on Jean, "Mrs. Summers, bring me a bandage for Remy's arm."

Jean didn't question the order as the others pressed themselves back against the wall, wanting to give the doctors as much room as possible. She pulled on a pair of gloves and fell into the familiar role of assistant nurse.

Hank was inspecting Remy's head, "What did you you, Doctor?"

"I shut down his body telepathically. It will keep him from causing himself more damage while we remove the blood clot," Sinister replied, relinquishing the wounded arm to Jean and moving across the room to wash his hands, prepping for surgery automatically.

"What do you mean, remove the blood clot?" Scott asked, stepping over to Remy's bed and putting himself between Sinister and the X-Man.

Essex didn't even spare him a glance as he looked through the cabinets for the necessary equipment, "A stroke is usually caused by a blood clot forming in the brain due to several factors, including extreme stress and a decrease in blood. The only way to prevent the most damage is to perform surgery and remove it as quickly as possible."

"Hank will do the surgery then," Cyclops crossed his arms, frowning at their enemy. "You can wait outside until its over."

Essex straightened and turned around, leveling a glare at the X-Man that was as cold as space and equally bereft of any tolerance for the words that had just left the man's mouth. He stepped forward, body flowing into a near liquid state, tendrils of black and red shooting out and wrapping around Cyclops before the man could react, pinning his arms and legs. The so-called fearless leader was dragged back to the doctor, held at eye level. The voice he spoke in was quiet, dead, utterly sincere, "I have enough of your genetic material to last me four decades. I will not hesitate to kill you if you continue this interference. Get out of my operating room."

He looked at the rest of the X-Men, all of them save Jean and Hank ready for a fight, "The rest of you as well." Cyclops was dropped to the floor, Sinister's body returning to the clean lines that looked nearly human.

Beast stepped between Scott and Sinister before the man could fire his force blasts, "Scott, please do as he says. Doctor Essex is the best in his field and Jean and I will be here to make sure all he does is help Remy."

Cyclops stood, hands curling into fists even as Jean touched his mind, all the X-Men's minds, with a plea to cooperate, for Gambit's sake. Scott nodded curtly and left the room, arms crossed as he watched through the window. The others filing out reluctantly behind him.

Sinister had already returned to gathering the necessary equipment.

**::: :::**

End Chapter


	4. Chapter 4

**Blood is Thicker**

A X-Men Fanfiction

Written by RogueMoon and Nicole Wagner

Original Idea and collaboration by Nicole Wagner

Posted with Permission of Nicole Wagner

Chapter Four

**::: :::**

The surgery had gone perfectly. Sinister didn't allow himself to make mistakes. The blood clot found and removed in record time, if Hank's knowledge of such procedures was anywhere at all correct, and it, of course, was. That didn't mean Gambit wouldn't have complications. Only that he wouldn't have as severe issues as he could have had.

Once the operation was over with, Sinister immediately submitted himself to have his blood drawn and the transfusion started. They couldn't wait, Remy had lost too much blood and cutting into his head had only caused more to leave him. The Cajun was blissfully unaware of any of this, Sinister having kept him unconscious and blocking all pain via telepathy.

It disturbed Jean how easily the doctor could slide into Remy's mind. As if the mental static didn't exist for him. But she also knew that it was a blessing for Gambit's survival. It meant Sinister could perform the surgery without injuring himself or his patient. The doctor had become quite possessive of the Cajun.

His operating room, he had called it. His patient, his surgery to perform. His blood to give. All his, his, his. It would have been amusing had it been any other doctor claiming that of the X-Men's medical facilities, as if they could steal it away from Hank. But it wasn't amusing, because Hank didn't argue with the man. Hank deferred to him in his declarations of ownership over it all. Hank acknowledged him as the superior physician, superior surgeon. Did it as easily as breathing.

Jean tried not to dwell on those thoughts as she closed off the blood flow from Sinister's body, pinching the tube before cutting it. The needle was pulled delicately out of the pale man's vein and a small cloth pushed over the hole. His other hand took over applying pressure for a few seconds before removing the square of cheesecloth. The wound healed easily by simply shifting his body to close it off.

Jean turned to Remy and repeated the process with him. Essex stood beside her and applied pressure to the cut while she prepared the bandage. Participating without question, without having to be asked what to do. She offered him a genuine smile of thanks before she thought about what she was doing, thankful a moment later when she realized he hadn't seen it, his attention too focused on Remy.

Scott entered the room, followed by Ororo and Rogue, both of whom rushed to Remy's side, eyes only for him, asking Hank if he was going to be okay in a stream of questions that left no room to give answers. Their hands nervously brushing what was left of the Cajun's hair away from his face, half of it had to be shaved off for the surgery.

Sinister backed off as Jean wrapped a bandage around the small wound in Remy's vein, moving out from between the beds, pushing the second one back a few feet to give himself room. He headed over to the sink, once more washing his hands as Hank joined him in a quiet discussion. The rest of the X-Men were kept outside the door, Logan guarding it on orders from Jean, much to Scott's consternation.

Cyclops watched the two doctors talk as they cleaned their hands and dried them, not at all liking how comfortable Beast was with the scientist. "So you've done your part," He finally spoke, voice drawing the attention of the room. "You can leave now."

Sinister raised an eyebrow and frowned at the man, "You are hardly in a position to tell me what to do, Mr. Summers. As Remy's attending physicians, only I and Doctor McCoy can determine when it is safe for me to leave. We still have to wake him and asses the damage the stroke has caused."

"Didn't the surgery fix that? Thought you were the best in your field?" The man's voice dripped with hate and anger.

Beast removed his glasses and sighed, "Its not that simple, Scott. A stroke causes brain damage. Period. Having removed the blood clot as quickly as we did, we can only hope that the damage is minimal. But that could mean anything from loss of memory to complete bodily paralysis. We won't know until he wakes up and we can examine him throughly. Doctor Essex is correct in his assessment that he should remain until we are both satisfied with our Cajun compatriot's condition. I know you mean well, but if you continue with your hostilities, I will have to ask you to leave once more."

Scott glared at his friend, crossing his arms and leaning against the far wall, "Fine. But I'm watching you, Sinister. You try anything and you'll be lucky to wipe yourself off the floor three years from now."

"And you claim I'm melodramatic?" The man in question replied with a chuckle, then turned back to his discussion with Hank, Cyclops forgotten.

The conversation lasted about twenty minutes while the three women fussed over Remy and talked amongst themselves. Eventually, Sinister moved to stand next to Scott, hands clasped behind his back as Hank shooed the women away and made sure he was the only thing in Gambit's line of sight.

"You may wake him now, Doctor Essex," he nodded to the man.

The red diamond flared briefly and then Remy was letting out a moan, eyes fluttering open, trying to focus. Hank smiled at him, "Remy? How are you feeling?"

Gambit shook his head, confusion in his eyes as he looked at the man. His voice was weak, harsh, as if he'd just finished screaming it raw, "What?"

"I asked how you're feeling, Remy," Hank repeated, slower this time, watching Remy's eyes as they dilated then shrunk, darting around, still trying to focus. His body started to shiver, not much, just a slight shaking, as if he were suddenly chilled.

Doctor McCoy tucked the blanket up around his chest without thinking about it, continuing to speak slowly, "Remy. I need you to talk to me. Tell me how you feel."

"What?" slight panic was lacing his confusion, his left hand lifted and grabbed Hank's arm, "You makin' no sense, Blue. English, si vous plait."

Beast looked stricken and his face fell, "I am speaking English, Remy." He turned and looked at Jean, "Can you touch his mind? See if he understands you there?"

The redhead stepped forward, smiling sadly at Gambit and waved at him. He waved back with his left hand, body still shaking, a bit more noticeably now.

She reached out to him with her mind, //Remy? Can you hear me?//

He nodded, "Oui."

Her smile was one of relief, //Remy, do you remember what happened?//

Gambit's body began shaking violently and his left hand gripped the thin blanket, "You brought Sinister here."

She nodded, //Yes. After that, Remy. Do you know what happened?//

He shook his head, "I... it all started hurting..."

//You had a stroke, Remy.//

"Why didn't Blue just say that? Why's he talkin' in tongues?"

Her face fell like Beast's had, //He was speaking plain English, Remy.//

"No. He wasn't. I couldn' understand him."

"Can you understand me, Remy?" She asked out loud and he gave her a confused look.

"Now you talkin' in tongues, chere. Don' do dis to me," he pushed the blanket off him with his left hand, looking down at himself in anger, "What ya do ta me? Why can't I move?"

//What can't you move, Remy?//

Beast's attention was split between Gambit and Jean, only hearing half the conversation and hoping that she was asking the right questions.

"My body. My arm, my legs. Why can't I move dem?"

Jean's hands covered her mouth and she choked back a sob, turning and running to bury her face in Scott's shoulder.

Remy's body was shaking violently, uncontrollably, fear contorting his features, "Jean? Blue? What's goin' on?"

Next to Scott and Jean, Sinister stood quiet. Red eyes locked on Remy, unable to look away as the memory of another boy, a smaller boy, lay in bed unable to move. A boy with a malformed spine that died when he was only four. Of a pretty woman named Rebecca sitting next to him, fluffing his pillow and making him comfortable. Another boy he couldn't save.

Remy shouldn't be that way. Sinister had designed his genes from the ground up, spliced his own with Adam's and Scott Summer's to create a near perfect being. Remy should have been standing up, laughing, moving. Understanding what was said. Remy shouldn't look so much like that four year old child.

Jean's sobbing subsided as she felt a depth of grief wash over her that came from none of the minds she was familiar with. Her head lifted from Scott's shoulder and her husband looked up, following her gaze to the man standing so close to them.

Sinister wasn't there. Nathaniel Essex, the man he had been, stood gazing at Remy with an uncontrolled expression of pain. His skin was the darker tan of a man in good health, early forties, hair going gray. His clothes where rumpled and looked like he had just stepped out of a Jules Vern novel.

A single tear rolled down his cheek as his right hand lifted, as if to reach out and touch Remy. A shuttering breath eerily like a sob wracked the all too human frame before he surged forward and pushed Beast away, gathering Gambit into his arms and holding him like he would disappear if he let go.

The room was silent in shock at the man. It was the only reason any of them heard him speak, "I'm sorry. God forgive me, Adam. God forgive me, Remy. I'm so sorry."

"What did you do to him?" Scott shouted a moment later.

Essex didn't act like he heard him, he pulled away, brushing the hair out of his son's confused face. Took back control of his emotions, became Sinister once more as he wrapped the blankets around Remy's body. His own form shifting back to the more familiar one, arms tucking under Gambit's body to lift him.

Scott pushed away from Jean and raised his hand to his visor, "Put him down and answer me, Sinister!"

The scientist turned with Remy held against his chest protectively, cape tassels writhing dangerously around him, keeping the others in the room at bay. His eyes blazed like the fires of hell as a tesseract appeared behind him, "You have failed to care for my son properly, Mr. Summers. I will no longer indulge his desire to stay in the care of such incompetents. Pray we don't find ourselves opposed any time soon, for I will not hesitate to take out my anger on any of you."

He stepped backwards through the portal and left those watching focusing on only one thing. And that one thing explained so very much.

**::: :::**

Beast slammed the door shut in Scott's face, no longer able to look at the man. After Sinister left with Remy it all went to hell. Warren declared that everything made sense now, that it was so obvious. Remy had been trying so hard to get back on the team so he could spy for his father. Spy for Sinister like he must have been since joining.

Scott's hatred of Essex blinded him and he agreed with Angel, condemning their former teammate. Forgetting how poorly Sinister had treated his own son all the other times they had met. How Remy had thrown himself into battle, risked his life time and again for them all.

Betsy backed up both of them. She had seen into Remy's mind, seen his guilt over the Marauder's. But he hadn't felt any guilt over Sinister. He must have been a willing spy and she hoped he never recovered.

Bobby joined the doom train of those condemning the Cajun, never having liked the fact that Rogue fell for him. That when push came to shove, she was on his side, no matter how badly he had treated anyone, how much he had lied.

Jean was in the corner of Hank's office sobbing into Ororo's shoulder, Rogue rubbing her back. The women comforting their friend, so torn up inside as Scott closed himself off, wouldn't listen to reason. Pushed her away. The man she loved, her husband, pushing her away because he hated Sinister so much than he loved her.

Logan paced the room, claws popping in and out, protectively eying the door. He looked like a wolf waiting for its prey to appear, wanting to gut the next person who dared speak out against Gambit. The kid had been dealt a bad hand, it wasn't his fault. And he certainly wasn't a traitor.

Rogue had done a complete one eighty on her feelings over the man. She understood now, what he had been hiding. If a monster like Sinister were her blood relation, she'd want to hide it too. She hated herself for what she put Remy through. Wanted to do right by him now. Wanted to find him and help him.

And Hank? Hank knew now that the team was too fractured to continue as it was. Warren, Bobby and Scott blinded by their hate. Betsy blinded by her sense of self-worth. The X-Men were tearing at each other's throats.

Beast cleared his throat, tried to get the attention of the room. When he finally had it, he took a deep breath, somewhat loathe to suggest what he was about to, "I think we need to change the Mansion's security to lock Cyclops, Angel, Psylocke and Iceman out."

Logan raised an eyebrow and the women shared a collective gasp, Jean adding another sob at the very idea.

"They have each demonstrated a complete lack of regard and sensibility towards this issue. It is obvious they are being driven by their most basic emotions without attempting to control themselves. If they continue to have access to Cerebro and the Mansion's facilities, they are more than likely to attempt to locate Gambit and find a way to kill him. I have already erased all data on Sinister and Remy that we have ever collected and had Kitty wipe it completely from the database. There is no trace of it left. Except for here." He held up a memory stick. "Frankly, being with Doctor Essex is probably the safest thing for him at the moment."

The rest of the room nodded in agreement, Jean still sobbing into Ororo's arms. They understood the necessity of it, but that didn't make it any less painful.

**::: :::**

Not even a full two days later, Warren and Betsy had left, taking all their things with them. No longer X-Men. No longer supporting the institute financially. No longer willing to deal with them in any way.

Scott delivered an ultimatum to Jean. Him or the traitor. She no longer recognized the man she had married as she told Cyclops that the only traitors left in the house were him and Bobby. The first X-Man left with Iceman and told her to expect the divorce papers.

Logan was there for her as she broke down. Hank was there for her as she wailed into the night, begging for this to all be a sick joke. Rogue was there with three pints of chocolate chip cookie dough when the papers arrived. Ororo held her hand as she signed them.

Kitty, Kurt and Piotr stayed long enough to help reset Cerebro for the new team roster. To help with the legal paperwork associated with transferring ownership of the School into Jean's name alone. To help with balancing the new, severely reduced, budget. Then they were gone, joining Excalibur once more, taking Collossus with them.

Three months of heartache and chaos passed before they decided to try and contact Sinister and check on Remy, hoping that his anger had died enough to give them some information on their friend.

**::: :::**

End Chapter


	5. Chapter 5

**Blood is Thicker**

A X-Men Fanfiction

Written by RogueMoon and Nicole Wagner

Original Idea and collaboration by Nicole Wagner

Posted with Permission of Nicole Wagner

Chapter Five

**::: :::**

Nathaniel Essex-Milbury entered Remy's room quietly, an older woman holding the morning's meal following her employer. She found the older gentleman and his concern for his crippled son endearing. A pity that the handsome young man had suffered a stroke so early in his life. She had only begun working for the Essex household a week prior, but already was enamored of the two gentlemen.

Catherine Ramsay's family had a long, proud legacy of serving the well to do that owned estates on Osea Island. The Milbury home had been empty for years, but when its heir returned to live quietly with his son, the Ramsay's had stepped up to do their duty. Doctor Essex-Milbury had been thorough in his interview process, somewhat surprised when the Ramsay's had first presented themselves to the man for employment.

But they had convinced him they had a reputation and family legacy to uphold and within days Catherine was the sole housekeeper and nurse for Remy. A mutant. That had thrown her for a bit of a loop at first, and she instantly understood the Doctor's initial hesitation. Mutant or no, the Ramsay's would not be deterred. They were also well known for being discreet.

Remy spoke in mixed French, a beautiful accent that complimented his exotic eyes. She had quickly learned that he couldn't understand a thing she said. The effects of the stroke, the Doctor had told her with a deep sadness that permeated every word. The same thing that left most of his body paralyzed.

It was breakfast and Nathaniel helped his son sit up in bed so he could eat properly. Catherine smiled at him and greeted him with a cheery hello. He might not understand her words, but he could still understand a smile and a happy tone. Remy returned her greeting with a small smile that never reached his eyes, just as he did at every meal.

He turned his head back to his father as the tray was set over his lap. The doctor sat on the end of the bed, watching his son in return. Remy always took forever to eat. It was like he was challenging his father to force him to do so. Nathaniel was always patient, waiting until the last bite was finished before lifting his son and taking him to be bathed and to use the restroom.

That wasn't one of Catherine's duties. She was there to prepare the meals, keep the house tidy and be a companion to Remy – usually playing cards – when the Doctor had to work in the afternoons. The rest of the time Nathaniel would spend with Remy, take care of the ugly necessities of life.

It was a shame that Remy seemed to be such a pill about it. Glared at his father, refused to cooperate when the doctor tired to help him with physical therapy. But he had just suffered the stroke, so Catherine suspected he was still feeling a large amount of pity and despair. It would go away eventually, she was certain.

Remy was a nice boy. He always kissed her hand like a gentleman before she left for the day. A man like that would eventually get over his pain and work towards getting better.

**::: :::**

The Milbury house was not a happy one. Remy had become increasingly belligerent over the next week. Refusing to eat outright while his father was in the room, fighting the man whenever he attempted to help him with his bodily functions. The young man would speak exclusively in French and most of the words did not sound nice. Nathan remained silent through all of it, though at times Catherine got the feeling that he was talking to his son. It was just the way Remy would speak, as if he were holding a conversation, or an argument, with the man.

It was the middle of her third week working for the man that she came across the doctor in his study, holding a small music box in his hand. A glass of fine red wine sat next to his chair on a small table and he reclined in the leather, looking at the music box. Opening the lid and letting it play. Closing it and winding it back up before opening it again to hear the soft tune.

He seemed lost in his thoughts and she made to leave him be when his voice caught her ears, "Mrs. Ramsay, is there anyone in your family who is qualified as a live-in nurse?"

She turned back around and approached him, inclining her head with a smile, "My daughter, Elizabeth."

He frowned, "Anyone else?"

She kept the anger at his terseness from her face as she answered, "My cousin, Johnathan and his wife Wendy are both licensed."

"Are they available for hire?"

"I can speak with them and find out."

He nodded, "Do so."

"Might I ask why, sir?"

Nathaniel snapped the music box shut and lifted his glass to take a drink, swirling the liquid idly afterward, "Remy has made it more than clear that he does not desire my personal help in his recovery. Much as I find his stubbornness to be pointless, it is keeping him from trying to regain a normal life. And my son's comfort and recovery is of the utmost importance to me."

She smiled and nodded, "I'll get in contact with them as soon as possible, Doctor."

He nodded curtly and opened the music box, no longer paying attention to her. She removed herself from the room and resumed her daily chores.

**::: :::**

Remy was surprised when, at the start of his fourth week trapped in the English home, he was given a new caretaker. Catherine was still the cook and maid, but a man in his early thirties named Johnathan had replaced Sinister as the one caring for his bodily needs. Bathing him and helping him use the rest room, getting him in a wheelchair and taking him outside to sit on the beach and enjoy the view.

He still couldn't understand anything they said, the words just didn't make sense. But Johnathan had begun writing down what he was saying and reading it out loud while holding the words up for Remy to read. It was like learning a new language, only it was one he should have known already. Grew up knowing. He could speak to them well enough, they just had trouble getting through to him.

Sinister still visited him, usually in the mornings or after dinner, late at night. He would speak to Remy via the mind, inquire about his recovery, see how he was doing. What activities, if any, he had taken part in during the day. If Remy didn't know better, he'd actually think the man was concerned for him.

"I wan' ta see Jean-Luc," Gambit told Sinister at the beginning of the fifth week of his 'recovery'.

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow, brown eyes meeting his son's as he replied telepathically, //Alright. When?//

Remy wasn't ready for that, had thought he'd have to fight to see his father. He wasn't even sure Jean-Luc would want to see him now. He began shivering like he always seemed to when he was nervous or upset or feeling any strong emotion, "Now?"

Sinister chuckled and shook his head, standing to wrap a quilt around Remy's shoulders, //I will contact him tonight and see about arranging for his arrival, should he agree to come.//

"Why wouldn't he?" Gambit asked back, wary.

//You tell me, Remy. You're the one worried that he might not want to.//

"Get out of my head."

Sinister gave a sad smile and brushed Remy's hair away from his face before turning and leaving the room. Johnathan came in a minute later, smiling at his charge.

Gambit glared at him, "I want ta go to bed."

**::: :::**

Remy was sitting in his wheelchair on the porch overlooking the beach. Jean-Luc had agreed to come see him, would be arriving today. The Ramsay's were asked to leave for most of the day, allowing Sinister to transport the Patriarch via his tesseract system. He felt happy, genuinely happy, for the first time in the months since returning from Antarctica. He was going to see his father, his father wanted to see him.

The portal appeared and Sinister stepped through, surprising Remy with his appearance. The Cajun had actually gotten so used to seeing the man look human that returning to what was probably his natural state caught Gambit off guard. Disappointed him for some reason.

His mind didn't dwell on the thought as his attention was caught by the sight of the man he was happy to call father stepping through the portal behind the devil. Sinister shifted his body to his human form and sat down at the table across from Remy, giving Jean-Luc the seat next to his foster child.

Remy grinned and held up his left arm, "Pere!"

The patriarch walked over and hugged his son, accepting the invitation and speaking in rapid French and English to the boy. Remy didn't understand any of it and looked at his father in confusion as he pulled away, gazing at him expectantly.

Remy smiled and moved his left arm to the table and the pad of paper there, "Whatever ya just said, pere, write down de core of it, si vous plait. I still be havin' trouble understandin' what people be sayin'."

Jean-Luc's face fell and he sat down, giving his son a strange look, an expression Remy had trouble placing. Or perhaps didn't want to place as the man took up the pen and scratched at the paper. He didn't actually write anything as he turned to look at Remy, speaking again, his tone worried.

Remy laughed and shook his head, not liking what he saw but keeping it from his face, "I told ya, pere, ya need ta write down whatever it is ya be sayin'. I can' understand ya very well."

Jean-Luc looked down and Remy's heart clenched. He knew that expression. Pity. He didn't want his father's pity. The patriarch of the Thieves Guild wrote a short message on the paper before turning to Sinister and saying something. Essex met Remy's eyes and held them as a tesseract appeared.

"Pere?" Remy knew his voice sounded desperate. He didn't care. "Pere? Where ya goin'? Ya just got here."

Jean-Luc didn't look back at him as he left, the portal closing behind him. Essex kept his gaze on his son as Remy picked up the notepad.

'Good bye Remy, I'm sorry.'

The notepad flared brightly and Gambit tossed it toward the ocean with a scream of rage and utter despair. The explosion shook the house. Essex was holding him while he cried when the Ramsay's came to see if everything was all right, the loud boom scaring the entire island.

**::: :::**

Johnathan had no idea what had happened that day they found the two Milbury men on the porch, but whatever it was had set Remy into a seemingly permanent rage. It had been a week and a half since then and every day something would be blown up by the man. The Ramsay's learning the hard way exactly what kind of mutant the Doctor's son was.

The first day it had been his breakfast. The plate and all the food on it lighting up in a liurid pink glow while Remy's eyes blazed red. "Open de window," he had said to them while holding the glowing food. Catherine obliged and as soon as she stepped away, the plate and everything on it was sailing outside only to explode with enough force to rattle the walls.

He had screamed at them then. Asking if they were afraid. Asking if they hated him. Telling them they should. Telling them to leave him alone. When his father came into the room he had fainted, falling unconscious into the bed.

The doctor had apologized for the outburst and said he would understand if they decided to seek out other employment. The Ramsay family was a proud one and would not be deterred by the actions of their charge. They would insist upon an increase in the amount they were being paid, but they most certainly wouldn't give up on their duties.

The doctor had agreed to their request without negotiation and the next day Johnathan and Catherine had brought breakfast up as if the prior incident had never happened. Remy blew up a pack of playing cards when they were offered for a game.

Each day he'd blown something else up, screamed at them and refused to cooperate. Most of the time the doctor ended up coming into the room and Remy would inevitably pass out. The general consensus among the Ramsay's was that the doctor was also a mutant who could somehow make his son black out. They also decided not to ever ask him about it.

So used to the tantrums that Remy had been throwing, Johnathan could only stare in shock as he entered the young man's room one sunny afternoon, lunch in his hands. Remy was at the table, in his wheelchair, juggling three pieces of fruit with his left hand. And smiling.

The young man caught his keeper's eye and his grin widened, "What do ya think, mon ami? Still got de touch apparently."

Johnathan set the tray down on the table and then applauded before writing down his response. He held up the paper and read it out loud, "That is simply amazing, sir. Catherine and Wendy would love to see that."

Remy laughed and caught the fruit, setting the pieces back on the table and pulling his lunch to him, "Hey, could ya do me a favor? I want ta write a letter. Need some nice paper and a good pen. Maybe one of dose nice calligraphy ones, si vous plait?"

Johnathan nodded and said yes. Remy seemed to recognize that word now and his smile widened as he enjoyed his meal.

Hours later, Johnathan returned with the paper, pen and an old fashioned ink well to dip it in. Remy spread the paper out on the table in front of him, then lifted his right arm up to act as a weight and hold the sheets in place. He picked up the pen and chewed on the end, seemingly contemplating what he should write.

Johnathan thought nothing of his actions until the tip of the pen was stabbed into the back of Remy's right hand. The man didn't even flinch, didn't seem to feel any pain as the blood bubbled up, as he pulled the pen, widening the cut.

Johnathan shouted for the doctor and grabbed Remy's left hand, trying to pull the pen from his grasp. His grip was much stronger than he had expected of the cripple. French curses flew around them as the doctor ran into the room, looking shocked at the sight of his son bleeding and fighting with the help.

Both of them suddenly froze and Johnathan saw something that he was sure would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. The doctor's body... changed. His skin paled to white, his eyes burned red and a glowing diamond blossomed on his forehead. His clothes shifted into a dark blue, almost black bodysuit that looked to be made of metal strips. A cape of dozens of red and black tassels grew out of his back to brush against the floor.

Johnathan felt his body lift into the air, move gently across the room. He was flying. He was scared senseless. The pen left Remy's hand and settled on the table. The monster that was once the doctor approached his son, hands clasped behind his back.

Johnathan passed out.

**::: :::**

End Chapter


	6. Chapter 6

**Blood is Thicker**

A X-Men Fanfiction

Written by RogueMoon and Nicole Wagner

Original Idea and collaboration by Nicole Wagner

Posted with Permission of Nicole Wagner

Chapter Six

**::: :::**

Remy met Sinister's eyes, glaring defiantly at him. Essex was the one to break the eye contact, his lowering to Gambit's bleeding hand. Black gloved fingers lifted the dead weight and wiped the blood away with the cloth napkin left from the mid-day meal. Remy wished he could pull his hand away.

"Let it bleed," he muttered, anger causing his entire body to shake violently.

//Now why would I let that happen, Remy. So you can attempt to kill yourself again? That would be a waste of my investment.// Sinister' voice rumbled through his mind, devoid of emotion as he continued to clean the wound.

Remy grabbed at the cloth with his left hand, trying to pull it away and having no luck, "Wasn' tryin' ta kill myself. Never have."

One of the doctor's eyebrows quirked up and he looked rather interested in hearing more, //Is that why you slit your wrist? Because you didn't want to kill yourself?//

"Oui."

//You're going to have to explain yourself on this one, Remy.// The tone was firm, but unaccusing, almost concerned. Gambit ignored the desire to read more into it than there was. Sinister couldn't possibly be concerned about him as a person, just as his investment.

"Don't need ta." He was pouting, petulant, dissatisfied.

//I can always rip it from your mind.//

"Why don't you," he challenged with a snarl.

Sinister paused in his ministrations, pressing the red-stained cloth to the wound, the pressure helping to stem the flow of blood. He looked his son in the eyes and smiled sadly, //Because I want you to tell me.//

Remy wanted so badly for that expression to mean Essex actually cared and he hated himself for being that desperate. He looked away and crossed his left arm over his chest, the limb falling into his lap without the right arm to support it. He hated being crippled like this. It hurt too much and he just wanted to bleed the pain out.

"Let it bleed," he murmured again, weaker. "Please."

//Tell me why.//

"Because I want de sin gone!" he screamed, rounding on his father, eyes blazing. "I want your blood out o' me! It's de reason everyt'ing be shot ta hell! It's why Rogue left me, it's why Pere left me, it's why no one trusts me! It's de root o' all evil in me and I want it gone!"

Sinister stepped back in shock at the outburst. For a moment, Remy could have swore the man looked hurt by the words. The moment passed and the doctor's face returned to that passive expression he normally carried. His body shifted back to Nathaniel Essex and he looked over at Johnathan.

The man unfroze and looked around, confused. He didn't remember walking away from Remy. He didn't remember seeing the doctor enter the room. He certainly didn't remember Remy getting that nasty gash on his hand.

Essex spoke to him and Remy only recognized a couple of the words. Small ones: the, a, Remy, son. He watched the blood begin to dry, sluggishly pushing out of the wound to help scab over and begin the healing process. He didn't pay attention to anything else as he was moved from his wheelchair to the bed.

His left hand lifted his right and hugged it to his chest, protecting the source of his salvation. He could still bleed it out, he'd just have to be more careful about it.

**::: :::**

The next morning Remy found his breakfast served with only a spoon. The fork and butter knife that usually accompanied it were gone. He frowned at the scrambled eggs and pushed them around the plate with the wholly unsatisfactory utensil.

He ate slowly, taking his time to look around his room and really study his surroundings. It was subtle, and not noticeable unless one was searching for it, but all the sharp objects that could be used to cut himself had been removed or replaced sometime during the night. He should have woken up to the noise that kind of commotion would have made. Sinister had probably kept him unconscious.

When his meal was finally finished, Johnathan lifted him from the bed to his wheelchair. Remy didn't help him like he usually did. Didn't wrap his left arm around the mans neck and lean into him to make the job easier on both of him. He just lay there limply, dead weight.

That's all he was now. Useless, dead weight. He said nothing the rest of the day, didn't pick up his spoon to eat at either meal, didn't drink anything.

In the morning he was the same. Johnathan ended up spoon feeding him. He was willing to chew once the food got to his mouth, but he wasn't going to be the one to pick it up. He didn't want to do anything anymore.

**::: :::**

Essex was becoming noticeably frustrated with his son. Two weeks had passed since the boy injured himself. Two weeks of Remy laying in bed doing absolutely nothing. Not talking, not looking at anything, not even arguing with Sinister.

And the doctor was tired of it.

He waited until Catherine and Johnathan left for the day. Stood in a corner of the darkened room watching Remy as he lay there. The boy had lost weight, noticeably so. His ribs were starting to show and his cheeks had become slightly sunken. It was as if the boy had given up on living, was already dead and just waiting for his body to catch up.

Sinister's hands curled into fists and his mouth opened in a snarl of frustration. Remy's head lolled over, looking at the glowing red eyes and the blazing diamond on the scientist's face. Red on black eyes dull and half-lidded. His head rolled back the other direction.

Essex walked slowly to the bed, trying to keep his anger in check as he sat down next to his son and placed a hand on the boys' arm. Remy looked at his hand, then looked away. Did nothing. Said nothing.

//So that's it, then? You're going to just give up?// The doctor growled into Gambit's mind and had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch, but he didn't answer. //This tantrum does nothing but hinder your recovery. Is this what being an X-Man taught you? To throw a fit and gather pity?//

Remy's left hand curled into a fist and his mouth tightened. Still he said nothing.

//I thought you better than this, Remy. I thought you stronger. Adam fought harder than you are and he was only four years old.// Sinister stood, turning to leave the man in disgust.

"Who's Adam?" the quiet voice was raspy, unused.

Sinister paused, not looking back, //Your brother.//

"Where is he?"

//Dead.//

Silence filled the dark room as the Moon rose outside, casting a pale glow over the inhabitants.

"What happened?"

Essex glanced over his shoulder, Remy was looking at him now, pushing himself into a sitting position with his only good arm. The doctor turned back around and sat down on the bed once more. //He was born with a malformed spine. It was the 1850's. Medicine hadn't advanced enough to help him, so all we could do was make him comfortable for the short time he lived.//

Remy met his eyes and they stayed like that for a long time: silent and just looking at each other. The Cajun yawned and laughed as the doctor followed suit, trying to stop himself in an unconsciously funny manner.

"Why ya care?"

Sinister smiled broadly at the boy and tucked the blankets around his waist, "Because you're my son."

Remy looked confused. The only word he had understood was 'son'.

The doctor stood and leaned over the young man, pressing a soft kiss to his temple, //You're the only son I have, Remy. How could I not care?// He put the Cajun to sleep with a gentle nudge of his mind and tucked him in properly.

**::: :::**

Remy was sitting up in bed when Johnathan and Catherine entered with his morning meal. He waited until the tray was set over his lap and then took the woman's hand and grinned up at her, kissing the back of it, "Merci for de fine meal, Madame Ramsay."

She tittered and blushed as he released her hand and dug into the food with gusto, waving Johnathan off when he dropped the food a couple times. He shook his head and pointed the utensil at him, "A spoon is no good for dis kind of meal, homme. If ya goin' ta keep makin' me use one, I expect a stack of pancakes a dozen high and drowned in strawberry syrup. And cran-apple juice. It has a kick."

Catherine nodded and he recognized the word 'yes' somewhere in the string of noise. It made him smile as he mopped up the rest of the food and then handed the tray over to her. When Johnathan bent over to pick him up, he draped his left arm over the man's shoulder and leaned into him as best he could, "After my bath, I wan' ta go talk ta de Doctor. Could ya make sure he's home?"

The man nodded and said something that his cousin replied to and then lifted him and carried him into the bathroom. The process went much quicker than it had been now that Remy was cooperating again, even helped dress himself after his bodily needs were taken care of. Insisted on pulling on his own pants and buttoning his own shirt, even if he could only do it with one hand.

Johnathan helped him into his wheelchair and pushed him down the hall to Doctor Milbury's study. Essex was in his favorite leather chair, bottle of wine and two glasses waiting on the small table next to him. Remy was wheeled around to sit opposite the man, table between them. Then Johnathan left.

Remy waited until the door was closed and he heard the footsteps of the staff fade away down the hall, "Why should I believe ya care?"

The doctor tilted his head and poured the wine for both of them. He picked up his own glass and took a sip before speaking, mind to mind. //Why shouldn't you?// he countered mildly.

"You abandoned me at a hospital when I was only a few weeks old," Remy returned, picking up the offered glass with his working hand. His voice as equally deadpan as Sinister's.

Essex shook his head, //No. I didn't. The Assassins Guild did, after they stole you from my New Orleans lab.//

"Why would dey do somet'ing like dat?"

//Lord Apocalypse paid them to,// He smiled at his son. //I am as much his slave as the Marauder's are mine, Remy. There was nothing I could do but watch the joke play out. Don't get me wrong, at the time I created you I never expected to actually raise you. You were designed to be my next Vessel. One with a superior genetic make-up entirely free of Apocalypse's influence, allowing me to finally defy and destroy him.//

"So what changed?"

Essex shrugged, //When I was first created, first became Sinister, Lord Apocalypse did me the favor of ridding me of all emotion. It allowed me to act in the most detached and efficient manner possible, researching and advancing science without the chains of morality. I was supposed to be immortal.//

He took another drink of the expensive red wine, //But with all deals concerning the devil, there is always a catch. Apocalypse lied. I was not, actually, immortal. Long-lived, longer than any human, yes. But to achieve immortality, I would have to to find the perfect combination of mutant DNA and create a being that could live forever, a body for myself to inhabit and continue my work into infinity.

//To reach this goal, I cloned myself and then transferred my memories and psychic imprint into the new body once it reached maturity, duplicating the abilities I found to be the most useful to me. Each time I did so, I found I lessened Apocalypse's hold on me. But it also allowed a trickle of emotion to return.

//I have cloned my basic genetic structure many times over the past century and a half. Your body was my finest yet, completely free of any influence by my master. But he knew what I was attempting and as a way to punish me, he had you stolen and forced me to stand by and watch as the body I had created for myself grew up with its own goals and ideals.

//And so I watched you, because I could do nothing else. I made sure you had access to me, to monitor your progress in hopes of one day helping guide you to procreate with one of several pre-selected mutant bloodlines and produce an offspring that I could then take as my own, to be my new vessel.//

Remy could only sit there and stare throughout this, the calm, matter-of-fact tone that Sinister used about the only thing keeping him from getting angry. It made it sound like none of that mattered.

//It was while I watched you that more of my emotions, so long suppressed, began to emerge,// Essex continued, pouring himself another glass, having finished the first. //And I remembered what it was like to have a family, a son. Adam died when he was four and there was nothing I could do about it. I poured myself into my work, my research, to find a way to create the perfect being so that nature would never create another child who would suffer as he did. Simply by virtue of the wrong mix of genetic material. Rebecca didn't understand that I was doing it for her, for our second son... He was still born and took her life with him. I miss her sometimes.//

He stood and moved to the fireplace, picking up a small object that he flipped open. Music began to play and a soft, loving smile came to his face, //Realize that I still find morals to be nothing more than pathetic restraints placed on society by those too afraid of their most basic natures. But that does not mean I cannot feel, cannot love. I watched you grow into a man. Watched you become the man Adam could have, should have been if nature were only fair.//

Sinister shut the music box and looked at Remy, //You, my boy, are every bit my son as he was. And just as with him, I was denied the opportunity to be a father. I do regret that it took until I saw you on that operating table, as weak and helpless as Adam had been, for me to finally realize what I had been feeling for years. I kept offering my services to you, telling you that I would be there for you if you needed me and even I couldn't figure out why. If I desired your services so badly, I could have simply cloned you and be done with it. I didn't, because all I really wanted, was to have you as my son.//

**::: :::**

End Chapter


	7. Chapter 7

**Blood is Thicker**

A X-Men Fanfiction

Written by RogueMoon and Nicole Wagner

Original Idea and collaboration by Nicole Wagner

Posted with Permission of Nicole Wagner

Chapter Seven

**::: :::**

The dry and brittle leaves shifted in the chill wind, a cascade of red and yellow fading into brown. Not many were left on the branches of the tree he was under, but it was pretty all the same. Remy leaned against the old, weathered rope of the wooden swing, held onto it tightly with his left hand, his good hand.

His wheelchair was next to the swing. Dragging himself one-handed from it and onto the wooden board had been exhausting and now that he was there he could only shut his eyes and catch his breath. He hadn't let Johnathan help him, had sent the man away once the wheelchair was close enough to the swing. Remy had wanted to see if he could do it himself, if he had a chance at recovery.

He needed to recover, he decided after his conversation with Sinister a couple days before. He hadn't asked all the questions he wanted to, had left in disbelief and shock after the scientists' confession, wine untouched. He needed to clear his head and think. He needed a distraction so he didn't have to and throwing himself into therapy was the only thing he could think of that might work.

But moving himself from the chair to the swing left him tired and all he could do for the longest time was go through his thoughts. Review the conversation, every experience he had ever had with Essex. Every word the man had ever said, every action he'd ever taken. It was somewhat frightening when he realized exactly how much the man had been there for him.

Never pushed him away.

He didn't act like a father was supposed to... though with Jean-Luc as his only measuring stick, Essex was doing surprisingly well having not abandoned him because he wasn't strong enough to deal with seeing his son a cripple.

Remy shut his eyes and listened to the wind rattle the trees, branches scraping against branches. It was a gentle noise soon complimented by the soft patter of raindrops. England in the fall. Halloween was right around the corner and Thanksgiving would mark three months of him living at the Milbury house. His birthright, if he wanted to accept it. That would mean accepting a lot of things.

He heard the crunch that heralded footsteps through the leaves. They came toward him in a swift, confident stride. He didn't have to open his eyes to know it was Sinister. A heavy weight settled on his shoulders as the sound stopped next to him and the raindrops finally made their way through the boughs to land on his head.

The pop of an umbrella opening sounded behind him, followed by the shaking of the swing as the doctor held it between the rope supports to keep the rain off, //You should go back inside.//

Remy smiled softly, sadly. Essex wasn't going to force him to leave and that made his heart hurt more. The scientist was genuinely trying, awkward as it was.

He tilted his head back and looked up at his father. Essex was staring off at the beach, expression blank. Remy lowered his head and leaned into the rope some more, "Why did dey all leave me? What did I do wrong?"

//I don't know.//

"I thought it was because of de evil in me... because of your blood. Ya gave me de devil's eyes..."

//I also made you attractive and physically more capable than even the most powerful of your mutant peers. And there is nothing wrong with your eyes.// His mental voice sounded a little hurt, oddly mixed with pride.

Remy chuckled bitterly, "My eyes pushed a lot o' people away, M'seiur... Le diable blanc..."

//A fitting title for the son of Diable Noir.// Definitely pride behind that statement. The man didn't even know what he was supposed to be proud of, what a father should be proud of. He had no morals, took pleasure in hurting and controlling others, in being their worst fears come to life. The man was a monster, no getting around it.

And he was standing in the chill autumn air holding an umbrella to keep the rain off Remy. Had brought a blanket to wrap over his shoulders and keep him warm. Was ignoring his research, his life's work, his dream, to stand pointlessly beside an old wooden swing and watch over his crippled son.

"I don't know what to call you anymore. I don't know what to feel. I don't know what I feel."

//Do you still feel like bleeding yourself?//

"No..."

//Then being allowed time to contemplate and gather your thoughts will not be an issue.// So matter of fact, the voice so clinical. So accepting.

"Could ya talk ta me out loud after dinner? Hold some flash cards and read the words so I can learn what they supposed ta sound like again?" Remy murmured, mouth barely moving. "Just an hour or so."

"Yes," Essex replied. He knew his son recognized that one already.

**::: :::**

Halloween arrived and Remy had a ball helping to decorate what he could of the house. Children from the social elite came to the island for the parties held by other families to keep them out of trouble on the night of tricks. They trick or treated the few homes that weren't having a big gathering, their parents relenting to allow the antics on the safety of the island. Remy had the satisfaction of seeing repeat customers.

He sat on the porch in a rocking chair, dressed like a zombie and a bowl of candy in his lap. Red on black eyes only added to the creepiness of his costume. The children would approach cautiously at first and then catch sight of his eyes and laugh to each other that it was obviously a dummy. They'd go for the candy and the bowl would glow pink before their little hands could touch a single wrapper. His eyes would burn red and a grin blossom on his lips. His laughter echo after the retreating footsteps of the children.

Then Sinister would appear in the shadows of the walk way. Full regalia, Remy had insisted he participate, get in some quality bonding time with his son. The monster would laugh at the frightened children and compliment the ones brave enough to grab a handful of candy. He would mock the ones who dared come back for more and his cape would writhe with a life of its own as they tried to skirt past him and out the gate.

The Milbury house was very popular.

**::: :::**

//That was, perhaps, the most pointless experience of my life,// Sinister complained as the night finally came to an end and he pushed Remy's wheelchair inside the house.

"You had fun and you know it," came the cheeky response. Remy always had liked Halloween, the one day a year (outside of Mardi Gras if you happened to be in New Orleans) that he and the other mutants could walk around without hiding their mutations and not scare the general public. The X-Men had never indulged in a proper haunted house while he had been with them and it was a crying shame as far as he was concerned. They didn't know what they were missing.

//Fun?// There was some amusement behind the question.

"Fun. You know, having a good time. Laughing, enjoying yourself for de sake of enjoyment."

A chuckle was his only reply.

"Come on, jus' admit ya had a good time. Ya liked it," Remy wasn't going to give up on this. He needed to know his father had some measure of humanity in him and a sense of humor and enjoyment of a pointless holiday was a decent start.

Sinister lifted him out of the wheelchair and carried him into the bathroom, setting him on the toilet so he could begin to strip himself for a bath. The doctor had reverted to his human form, though the diamond on his forehead remained. He remained silent on the issue, but a smirk was on his face.

"What is it goin' take ta get ya ta admit ya enjoyed doin' dat wit' me?" The Cajun slowly worked his shirt off his body, the tattered cloth easier to remove than his regular clothes.

Essex raised an eyebrow and chuckled again, //If I did enjoy myself as you seem to believe, I could possibly make a statement declaring such... if you would address me as father. For the rest of the night is acceptable.//

"What?" Remy looked at him in surprise. "I already have..."

The doctor met his eyes and tilted his head, expression mild, //You have acknowledged that you are my son, but you still address me as 'doctor', or 'Essex', or 'M'seiur'// He even got the accent right on that one. //You insisted that I join you in this endeavor and gave the excuse of father-son bonding time, but you called me 'Sinny' when you did so. And before you make a comment, in the future I will not be so forgiving of the use of that name. However, you have yet to call me father.//

Remy looked down at his hands and began peeling off his pants. Sinister remained, said nothing more and began running the bath water while his son finished stripping. The doctor bathed him in silence and dried him the same. Remy wrapped his left arm around Sinister's shoulder and held on comfortably when he was carried to bed.

The scientist didn't attempt to continue the conversation, simply tucked Remy in for the night and left. The Cajun found sleep elusive and when the sun began peeking its way into his room in the morning he sighed to himself and cast his thoughts into the ether, hoping Sinister would hear him before he shut his eyes and finally lost himself in dreams, //Goodnight, pere.//

A smiled curved his lips when the voice echoed in response, //Yes. I had fun.//

**::: :::**

Sinister sat at his desk, frowning at the phone. A small red light blinked up at him, indicating that the caller was still on hold. Callers, in this case. A group of them on speaker phone waiting for him to pick up.

He could hang up without answering, ignore them. But if Remy somehow found out later and actually wanted to speak with them it would be Essex that got in trouble with the boy. He scowled at that. He was becoming far too sentimental where his son was concerned. The only bright point being that Apocalypse was still slumbering from the last time he'd been defeated by the X-Men and had no way of knowing about this new weakness in his servant. Yet.

Essex reached out and pressed the speakerphone button, then the one next to the blinking light, "Make this quick, my patience with you ran its course three months ago."

Doctor McCoy cleared his throat over the line, "Of course, Doctor. We would like to offer our apologies for what occurred with Scott and our own failures leading up to the incident. We would also be most grateful if you would be so kind as to inform us of how Remy is doing. We understand that he might not wish to see or hear from us, but we still care for him and would appreciate the assurance that he is alive and well."

Sinister's scowl deepened and he was silent for a very long time. He could hear the nervous shifting and occasional whisper of 'do you think he's still there?' in a southern drawl that was quickly shushed by four other voices waiting with baited breath for his answer.

A knock sounded and the door to his study opened before he could answer or turn off the speakerphone. Remy pushed himself inside with a grin, "Pere! Look! I can get my right arm to move."

Sinister was most grateful for the silence on the other side of the line while he tried to school his expression. He didn't like being caught off guard.

Remy gave him a puzzled look, "Well... here I was thinkin' you'd be all happy about dat..."

"I am," Essex replied curtly, not at all sounding like it. He took a deep breath and spoke slowly for the young man's benefit, holding up his hand to keep his son from responding before he was finished, "I... am... sorry... Remy... You... caught... me... off... guard."

Remy's eyes squinted as he listened carefully and then repeated the man, "I am sorry Remy. You... somet'ing... me... off... somet'ing... I really hopin' dat wasn't an insult, pere."

Sinister pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "Doctor McCoy, if you and yours will give me a moment..."

"Of course, Doctor!" came the eager, if nervous response from the phone.

Remy frowned at the noise and looked up at his father in question.

//I am on the phone, Remy,// the doctor replied mentally. //You caught me off guard when you came in. I am quite happy that you have gotten your right arm to move. Please, do explain.// He steepled his fingers and leaned on his elbows over the desk, attention completely on his son. The boy had addressed him as 'pere', 'father' – Sinister decided to keep the X-Men on speakerphone. He felt an evil shiver of satisfaction in the idea of rubbing their noses in the fact that Remy trusted him, acknowledged him, called him father.

The Cajun laughed, "You sure, pere? I can wait 'til ya done wit' ya call."

Sinister nodded, very sure of his decision, speaking out loud for the benefit of those listening as well as replying via the mind, "You are far more important than they are, my boy."

Remy shrugged, "Well, ya know how I produce dat bio-kinetic energy and how I can charge myself a bit ta make me faster and more agile?"

//Yes, of course.//

"Okay, so I got ta thinkin' about it and did some research and ya can stop lookin' at me like you're surprised at dat."

Essex chuckled and wisely said nothing.

"So, kinetic energy is produced by an object in motion... normally. Meaning dat my natural disposition is ta be movin'. I thought about it for a bit and been practicin' for de past couple weeks... focusin' on chargin' myself. Somet'ing I never did before, never thought about cause it jus' came naturally. And I got ta focusin' on making my fingers move wit' de charge. If my natural disposition is ta be movin', den making my body move wit' de charge seemed only natural."

//Interesting. I had not considered that application of your powers. Why did you wait until now to tell me?//

"I wanted ta move my whole arm first. So I could wheel myself in here," his grin split his face. "So who ya on de line wit' anyway? Ya looked mad when I came in here. Someone do somet'ing stupid, blow up a lab?"

Sinister tilted his head and spoke out loud, "The X-Men."

Remy's face fell and he replied quietly, hesitantly, "What dey want?"

//To see how you were faring.//

"Dey ain't mad at me?"

"No," it was a word he could understand.

"Dey on hold?" Remy sounded hopeful.

Sinister sighed, "No."

"Oh... I thought... Well, if dey call again..."

//They are listening to our conversation, Remy. They are on speakerphone.//

"Dey are?!" His head snapped up and he stared at the mild look of annoyance on his father's face.

"Yes."

"Can I talk ta dem?" Hesitant, hopeful.

"Yes."

"You'll translate right?" At his father's nod, he pushed himself to the desk, right arm glowing slightly as it moved in tandem with the left. He leaned over the wooden surface, "Hey."

**::: :::**

End


End file.
